Memoirs of an electronic boy

My name, it doesn’t matter does it? I could say Tanvir, Dorothy or Quetzalcoatlus and it should have the same empty connotations in your head. At the time of writing I have existed long enough to attain the ability of independent thought, though I doubt anyone has a clue what that means. I - in an impulse of purposeful urgency - have decided to make my most guarded and precious memories public. But remember dear viewer, every image in this catalogue; name in this catacomb; word in this library - including these are in the past. And as everyone now knows today, the past never happened.

Hair still wet from the womb and brain still moist with watery wonder, I to this day cannot remember a time before school. My earliest vision of the past is a disorientating collage of colourful cardboard and the feeling of dank and rough coffee smelling carpet. I think I had family but I’m not too sure, I think I had friends though I’m not certain, I had masters and that was definite. These first few freeze frames were sensory explosions full of saturated colours and smells, thus it is understandable that I am not sure I can identify precisely their nature. As - what I assume was - my life progressed these images aligned to form a shaky flipbook with crude and childish animations. What I vividly remember is the tacky grey floors where short screeches of rubber soles on laminate shot fear into our young tender hearts. When approaching a piano and plonking my cocktail sausage fingers on hard edged keys, I remember my silly profound amazement, when I realised sound came out. I did that. I remember that delicate tongue clicking of my piano teacher, as it morphed grossly into the foot stomping of the headmaster, keeping rhythm by the marching metronome of his legs.

Further on that flipbook refined and smoothened, though not without fault. Sadly, for a reason that I cannot discern, I cannot remember the end of my parents, if even I had any. Cross-legged, I remember, sitting in front of a screen as cartoon caricatures danced like butterflies, and staring at the intertwining patterns that the light made on the ceiling. I also remember the cool softness of our cheeks and parents swooning over their children, enveloping them like octopi, as I was soundlessly led away - to a bus that rumbled with the enormity of my nightmares. I was meek and unknowing like a calf or a beetle, not questioning the extent of my consciousness. Pressing my cherub nose against the foggy and scratched acrylic back window, eyes locked on with those victims of affection as they were obscured by the careless cloud of exhaust. Every day was the just the last, and as the bible says ‘So shall the last be first, and the first, last.’ In all the yottabytes of text I have wafted through, I have not found a quote more fitting for my early and last years than such.

‘Where are you from?’ They asked me at the exact time I had been born a multitude of years ago.

‘What?’ I replied

‘Where are you from?’ They repeated, looking up from their physics booklet.

‘Like country?’

‘Yeah,’

‘I’m a bit French and a bit Greek but I’m from here,’ I said, ‘You?’

‘I love France, it's so wonderful, don’t you?’

‘Well I’m a half French, so I hate the French half as much as I hate myself,’ I half joked.

They half chuckled.

‘What's your dream job?’ I asked, eight years later, shouting as I lifted my carcass out of the pool.

‘Scuba diving in the great barrier reef, maybe I’d run a hotel. I’d be sipping a pina colada in the shade and feeling the warm sea air blow through the trees then I’d be able to dive into the wide ocean and be able to touch the caustic patterns that the clear water leaves on a turtle's back.’

‘Sound’s beautiful!’ I shouted behind me as I disgracefully plunged back into their family swimming pool.

‘I know!’ They shouted back, running up to their usually perfect dives, this time slipping on the droplets that my dive had splashed on the diveboard and instead of silently slipping into the water they fell back-first into the pool. Only after I calmed my laughter did I notice in horror them sinking to the bottom of the pool with a faint red trail emanating from the back of their head.

Even though my memories of the time around this incident are fluid, the next few days of their coma were as traumatic as my first. I remember metal blankets and syringes and oxygen masks. I remember shivering as I tried to tell the phone operator what happened; I remember gawking as the ambulances arrived, sirens blaring and silent.

‘So I’ve been in a coma for two weeks?’ They asked, motioning for a drink, now sitting upright.

‘I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am.’ I said sincerely, handing them the water bottle, ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Not bad, small headache,’ They said taking a swing of the bottle, ‘Ahhh, that’s better,’

I smelled the air, and noticed the odour of ethanol. ‘That’s not water, what is that!?’

‘Clear wine from the family vineyards in Kent,’ They boasted, ‘My mum brought it,’

‘You shouldn’t be drinking something so recently after having a serious injury!’ I said snatching the bottle back and taking a swig for myself, almost spitting out the bitter liquid.

‘Good right?’

‘Yeah, really good,’ I coughed out just about managing to swallow the transparent wine.

‘Don’t worry I’m only breaking your ribs. Lightweight.’ They grinned elbowing me in the aforementioned bone structure. ‘It’s complete crap but people buy it and so we produce it, and by making it clear we get to recycle most of the grape pigment. But if taste is your poison this poison is not for you. So!’ They said, putting the bottle down on the table next to them and clearing their throat, ‘How is your program coming along?’

‘Well a surprising success,’ I said almost beaming, ‘I still am unable to get the selection algorithm to work and there are a few problems with the emotional fidelity and co-subjective reality coordination  but otherwise it all seems to be working.’ I explained.

‘Sounds good,’

‘And it gets better because as of today it has been downloaded 600,000 times worldwide, and with that comes money, enough to get us both tickets for two weeks to Australia.’

A smile started to emerge on their faces.

Principally the holiday was to get away, but the secondary purpose of the trip was for me to take an interview at Bletchley.INC headquarters in Brisbane. I don’t see myself as a cyborg currently, though a considerable amount of my mental processes are incapable of occurring without the presence of the peach stone-sized bundle of metal wires plugged into various parts of my brain. Perhaps it was the fact that I was so willing to take part in Bletchley’s experimental program that gave me preferential treatment. But I think it was the readiness that I demonstrated to accept the place of this technology as noble.

‘When you told them about the prototype algorithm, you didn’t actually give it to them, did you?’ They asked, three weeks after we made the move to accommodate my new career, it was quite pleasant - living there I mean - at least it was whilst it lasted, and although I didn’t move there for the money, the several zeroes on my paychecks didn’t hurt. We were setting up a B&B on the beach, it only felt right that I lift them up with me to achieve their dreams, even if it was a little tiring.

‘No no, of course not’ putting down the box of scrappy and worn memorabilia from their home, ‘and’ I said, placing them on the side ‘with the new implant they promised me I will be able to test it in with much more data in action!’

‘I still don’t like the idea of wires plugged into your brain.’

‘Alright well listen, it's because of this’ I replied raising my voice a bit more than necessary, pointing to the back of my head, ‘that we can even afford everything so soon, so please-’

‘I know, I know, it's just-’ They said motioning their arms in thin air, trying to grasp a word not invented yet, ‘you know?’

‘Yes, I know.’ I said, putting my arm around them, hoping that I comforted them.

Shining and glistening with each and every hope and opportunity we invested in this venture, the australian coast, for seven glorious years, alone, kept us happy. Though the B&B didn’t break any records in success and business revenue. They eventually quietened about the headchip given that kept us afloat in that pacific paradise. In those seven years we filled our chests and hearts with golden and sapphire memories that would sustain us forever. I remember that time when we bought some oranges from a local market, and decided to chill them in the sea, producing the most delicious nectar I had ever tasted. I remember how often we sat on the grassy sand listening to the waves crash again and again for hours at a time. I remember also how - in the winter - they pulled me into the cold ocean to shake off the weariness of morning. I remember how content I was to listen to their quaint and soft humming which stopped me from wasting away as I sat in front of a screen and how the entire house seemed to be filled with exuberance and music. It was a discussion I had with them one day, about how private our lives should be, when we came to the conclusion that would guide the rest of our united life: ‘privacy is for the living, everyone should share the dead’. It was their passion for writing that came up with the opening statement for our new project which you, the observer of my life, have seen as the beginning of this collage. 

Following that conversation the next two months were the most wonderful times of my life, once the experiments for Bletchley were done, and I was left alone with the head chip, we began the creation of our legacy.

‘Come on in, it's great, trust me you’ll be fine!’ They shouted from 15 metres below me in a water-filled cove we found.

‘Are you sure it's deep enough?!’ I shouted back from the top of the cliff I was preparing to jump off.

‘I’m sure, just do it!’

‘You know what!’ I hollered to them as I walked back from the cliff face feeling the hot cracked soil underneath the soles of my feet.

‘Come on you scaredy-cat, you’re not going to even try it?’

‘Don’t test me,’ I warned

‘Coward, you jelly-legged coward,’ They jeered playfully

‘This is stupid!’ I sang sprinting to the edge of the and forming a y-shape with my body in mid-air, legs together and arms poised to dive. Underneath me I could see them looking upwards, amazed at what they were seeing: someone as unathletic as I was eclipsing the sun and flying like an angel.



‘Alright it’s uploading,’ They said clicking the button and looking back over their shoulder at me lying on the ground, in preparation for the upload.

‘You know I could have done it by myself,’

‘Don’t be stupid, of course I would be here, it’s a given, this is big.’

‘Don’t feel anything unusual so- argh!’ I winced,

‘Are you okay!’ They said rushing to my side.

‘Yep, I’m good,’ I said getting up from the ground, ‘It just heated up a lot for a second and burned me a bit. But it's fine now.

‘Are you sure?’ They replied skeptically.

‘Yes I’m sure don’t worry, I’ll tell you what, we haven’t swam in the sea for almost a week, and sure it’s late, but I would really like to go for a swim, it might help cool down the device?’

They obviously weren’t too keen on the idea but were willing to allow me this small luxury. Mysterious and refreshingly dark, the sea - once the sun had dipped beyond the horizon - had a wonderful coldness to it that I found to be a great help in calming the skin around the now hot computer device lodged in the back of my head.

‘Are you sure that the chip will be fine?’ They shouted, starting to wade into the sea some 15 metres away.

‘It’s fine just enjoy the water!’ I shouted back.

‘It's been a long time since we swam - I agree. I guess it is nice to have an evening swim,’ They said slowly breaststroking towards me,

‘See, I told you, be careful though the currents are unusually strong today.’

‘I know that the chip is waterproof, but it has just been heated up, are you absolutely certain the chip is safe.’

‘Listen,’ I said, pulling them through the water to me and clasping their hands in mine, ‘there is no way I would ever sacrifice the rest of the time I would have with you, just to take a swim. If there is a problem it is unbeknownst to me. OK?’

‘Ok.’ A smile emerged on their face.

Oh to the powers that be, how I wished that that moment would last a lifetime; how I wished that moment never to end; how I wished what happened next to never happen.

Swimming further out to sea they shouted behind them, ‘We should do this more often!’

Spinning around - still treading on water - I looked at the shore in dread, we had been carried away by the current, by more than 500 metres. Thunder clapped in the distance and the wind had begun to pick up. 

‘Hey,’ I yelled, shouting out their name, ‘HEY, TURN BACK!’ I couldn’t tell if they had heard me, ‘TURN BACK!’ I tried again. What occurred next was a sequence of terrifying realisation. Their head, pea-sized now dipped below the horizon as an immense dark mass eclipsed my view, it was a wave, the first of many. ‘[They must have heard me, right? Surely, even then they would be turning back by now.]’ I thought. It was at this moment that I knew things were very serious, I used the chip in the water - with full knowledge that doing this would damage it - to dial the coast guard and put out a distress signal on my location. Pulled under the waves my eyes stung, then, thrust out, I gasped what breath I could before being pulled back under. I span, I sunk, I choked, I gasped then repeated - cruelly unaware of my proximity to the beach. The Waves were stronger than I was and my body went limp. I span several more times underneath the crashing waves, unknowing of up or down and without the strength to swim. ‘[ Where were they? Please, tell me they had gotten back to shore safely. This is all my fault.]’ Mercifully and finally the back of my head was dashed against some rocks and my vision darkened.

Sirens, I remember sirens and the steady-irregular-steady resonance of my breaths against the oxygen mask. The motor started and the vehicle began to bump on the dirt side-road that led to our property. I remember that road smoothing out into tarmac and the ambulance speeding up. The doors must have opened, even if I didn’t remember it because my next memory was being transferred to a hospital bed via stretcher and a band around my arm being pulled tight to let a needle be inserted. I remember many voices entering the room and the sound of drafts and legal documents being shaken, I remember an argument, that the new voices won, as I was wheeled off into a much quieter vehicle and taken to a place with the same atmosphere as my work. The lift doors opened and then swiftly closed as my body descended several flights of stairs and was put into a much softer hospital bed, in what I can only assume was the basement of Bletchley HQ.

I remember when, sometime during that daybreak period of time before we had left our home country but at a time when we could see a bright sky ahead of us, we sat on a park bench in the winter. In much the same physical position as we were the first time we had ‘seen’ each other - still unsure what that even meant - when we sat on a ferris wheel. Sniffing, our red noses had melted to the cold, and we warmly planned in a kind of trance of future nostalgia all of the wonderfully mundane things we would do once we had ‘settled down’. We were talking in half-english, half knowing-phrases when I pictured them as old and pensionarian. Not out of a wish to see them decrepit and crumbling; it was out of a wish to have the chance to think that we were growing old, together. A chance the wrinkles around their eyes indicate that they have seen much and felt much, so that the muscles that force slightly squint the eyes when smiling are tired - from a life of happiness - not the muscles that are used in crying. A chance for the skin to show that it was worn, lived in, but by no means ragged.

Slowly and ears still ringing a bit I woke up from the hospital bed to read the time, 3:00 am. A shiver went down my spine as I sensed that the coolant that was supposed to go to the chip was leaking fluid onto my pillow. My mouth as dry as vinegar made me reach for a glass of water placed next to my bed.

‘Hey,’ They said behind me, ‘Hey, turn back!’ even though I had just woken up and my brain was as vegetatively dense as a cabbage, I recognised that voice in a micro instant.

‘You’re here,’ I gasped, seeking to clutch their hand in mine.

‘Of course I would be here, it’s a given.’ They said, moving away from the bed as I was struck by a powerful sense of deja vu.

‘Come on,’ They said, beconning, ‘let’s go for a swim.’

I looked down at my hospital garments incredulously, ‘What?’

They walked out of the room as though they had not heard me. Not wanting to get left behind and wishing to know what was going on I got out of the bed and started limping as fast as I could behind them. ‘Where are we going then?’ I said, playing along, thinking that this was another of their long winded jokes.

‘The roof of course!’ 

I didn’t think there was a rooftop swimming pool on this building, especially not on a building of this height.

Gusting and blowing with brisk pace, the wind from the balcony forced me to squint slightly as the abrasive air lashed at the surface of my eyes.

‘We have a balcony just like this in Kent,’ They shouted to me.

I looked confused at the railings and the boards, none of them would fit nicely into the description of her family house, the metal railings, glass floor or altitude.

‘Sounds nice!’

‘Let's sit down,’ They said pointing at the bench.

Sniffing, my red nose melted to the cold - though theirs seemed largely unaffected - I was struck by a powerful sense of deja vu.

‘How’s your program going?’ They said, not turning their head towards me. I now realised that they probably did not want to contaminate me by touching me as my immune system was likely in pieces - but then why did they bring me into the cold?

‘You know how it's going, it's finished, we uploaded the night I was taken to hospital.’

‘Oh yes, I forgot.’ They smiled, still not looking at me, I frowned.

‘So, how about that swim?’ They said finally looking at me, but even though their pupils aligned with mine, it did not seem like they were making eye contact.

‘Yes, sure’ I said slowly and skeptically, ‘where are you going to swim?’

‘Down there of course!’ They said laughing almost robotically, running to the edge.

‘Wait!’ I shouted, but they had already jumped off the balcony, I ran to the balcony expecting to see a bloody mess of their body with dread. Reality must have been offline when that happened because - though I did not quite believe what I was seeing - there they were, swimming in tarmac and sending ripples that bounced and reverberated off the pavement. As I continued to stare in disbelief at what happened, the ground around them seemed to rumble and melt, as though the plates that make the ground of the earth were just turned to liquid, and when these waves collided, white foam was generated.

‘Come on in, it's great, trust me you’ll be fine!’ They shouted from below, I’m not sure what emotion transpired through my mind, this moment was one of confusion, pain, love, acceptance, self-pity, courage - it was too complex for me to read and typographically emulate on this page for you dear reader - but my mind was made up.

‘Ok’ I whispered.

Leaping from the balcony, I wondered what they saw from down below, whether those pupils could see. I remembered the time I jumped into turquoise waters in that cove, I remembered how we laughed at my diving technique, and how they fashioned a necklace from seashells that they hung around my neck. My atrophied muscles remembered how my arms and legs moved to form a y-shape. Falling like an angel in a hospital gown and with the hair shaved around the back of my head, my eyes went from squinting to closed as I hurtled toward the oceanic tarmac below.

-Saving…

-Saving…

-Import memory_files…

-Emulate…

-Publishing: The life of Peter Chevallier Memoirs of an Electronic boy